


My Alana

by SadCalad



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "Every moment since is borrowed.", Dinner, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadCalad/pseuds/SadCalad
Summary: A smile had overcome his visage, unsettled by its own appearance. The tiniest sliver of teeth it showed made his heart swell in a sweetness akin to tasting the mead.——An interesting analogy, Doctor Lecter. But please, do pass the salt.





	My Alana

**Author's Note:**

> For Emma, who inspired this to happen.

The two of them rarely spoke at the dinner table. So accustomed to their habitual silence, he ceased the motion of cutlery in surprise, just when the person across from him meant to verbalize.  
  
Conversation was bound to be initiated tonight. Will cleared his throat:

Alana—I meant, mine. My Alana.  
  
A choice of nuanced phrasing, I see.  
  
Requisite nuances. Of yours, and mine. "My Alana."  
  
Shall we lay eyes upon the things of our co-ownership?  
  
Funny how it does not occur to me anything that has… survived our coexistence.  
  
You see our paths separate, dear Will, whilst I dare suggest we are in the Penrose stairs. You’ve followed my descent in ascending order. See how these trails and marks coincide.  
  
Hannibal.  
  
These are but the same steps. Of yours, and mine, but of hers, all the same.  


He would remember Will in that moment. A smile had overcome his visage, unsettled by its own appearance. The tiniest sliver of teeth it showed made his heart swell in a sweetness akin to tasting the mead. 

  
An interesting analogy, Doctor Lecter. But please, do pass the salt.

  
So he delivered the shaker into that waiting hand, and stilled, watching how the crystalline granules fell to bloom on his Alana. He did make an innocuous joke, a pointless play that held little to no meaning. Yet the shallow lines etched to the corner of his own eyes had deepened with each smile he gifted Will, in hopes of a gift in return. At times he felt like becoming a person of warmth, almost so.  
  
He wouldn’t, however, and neither would he. The one who once held warmth was now elaborately arranged in a cold plate on snowy white tablecloth. For a moment he observed the movement of Will’s throat with each bite and swallow, mesmerized. Will’s lips were closing over the tip of a silver fork. Hannibal was sure there was no other sight near as pleasing as this one.  
  
The chef had come upon a pale neck clutched in the hunter’s slender fingers, and silently wondered how he would do justice to his beautiful work. It turned out a fine ingredient alone was enough. Alana used to be bland and tasteless, he remembered; she now held an abundance of flavor, come from the spice of vice, and aged with aches and pains——the fruit of their labour.  
  
He grew solemn then, and thought of Penrose’s paradox. The metaphor he employed was disrespectful of the departed. She had long ceased to be the person who would be amused by trifles like this.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "You died in my kitchen, Alana, when you chose to be brave. Every moment since is borrowed. Your wife, your child - they belong to me. You made a bargain for Will's life and then I spun you gold."
> 
> Comments much appreciated : )


End file.
